


all else could fail ( but love always prevails )

by dormant_bender



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bad Puns, Banter, Dorks in Love, Dry Humping, Euro 2016, First Kiss, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Game(s), Short One Shot, Suggestive Themes, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 23:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7457380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormant_bender/pseuds/dormant_bender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>first and foremost, paul is a gentleman, though he can't help but question his morals when he has antoine right where he wants him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>or: sometimes things don't go as planned, but either way, the two still somehow managed to find each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all else could fail ( but love always prevails )

**Author's Note:**

> so, uh, here we have a fix-it fic with my two lil french cuties.
> 
> and yes, i ship antoine with everyone, i am not ashamed. lmao

    Monotonously, the pad of a thumb glides along the screen of the cell phone, eyes scrolling along the tiny black letters that scatter across it. There were a variety of positives and negatives that were present; be it on Twitter, or other various social media sites. Ivory teeth sink deeper into an already thoroughly bitten bottom lip, gnawing tenderly upon the skin there, eyes rimmed with red.

  


    "Hey,"

  


    Disgruntled blues glance up at the regards, teeth abandoning their place in the indents they make upon his lower lip to offer the tiniest of smiles. It's barely there, only lasting half a second, before he glances back down to stare at the criticism laced upon the screen once more.

  


    He hears the scolding click of a tongue but doesn't glance up again, "I sort of expected you to be up watching more of that one show.. What's it called?" Snapping occurs before it halts entirely. "Ah, yeah. Adventure Time. I could turn it on and we could do a little Netflix and chill, but the literal chill."

  


    Antoine maintains a steady grip upon his phone, lacing his fingers around it tightly, then proceeds to rest his chin upon the top of them. "I'm not really feeling it, not now."

  


    Paul, who already has the remote within his hands, currently maneuvering the television to the app, pauses momentarily to stare at him wearily. "Neither am I but I figure it's better than feeling miserable and like I let down the whole country. So here I am." 

  


    "You feel it too?" The Frenchman's voice is barely above as whisper, feeling the familiar constriction of his throat beginning to form. He gulps deeply, swallowing the forming lump. "I—I thought it was just me."

  


    Once Netflix is finished loading, with a random episode selected, the darker-skinned male crosses the short distance to Antoine's bed to plop down beside him. Instinctively an arm slings across the latter's lower back, the brunet tilting his head to the side to rest it against Paul's lap. 

  


    "Do you forget we're a team? It's not just you, never just you."

  


    Antoine winces at that, shifting more comfortably onto his side, gazing up at the latter's face. "All I see online is about how I choked, that I could've won it for the country, but I didn't."

  


    Brows furrow tightly when the man chuckles abruptly, his idle hand twining within brunet locks, pads of fingers massaging gingerly at his scalp. "Silly boy. People on those sites get paid to say things like that, I never pay it any mind and neither should you." He uses the same hand to form a small fist, nudging it playfully against the latter's rosy cheek.

  


    "Yeah, but—"

  


    "There's a reason they're behind a computer all day," the man replies softly with a reassuring smile as he gently cups one of Antoine's cheeks, brushing the pad of his thumb against the smooth skin there. "Otherwise they would be there, with us, on the pitch and that's not the case is it?"

  


    "Something told me to just be a Sportscaster," murmurs the brunet in vague amusement as he leans into the hand, nuzzling warmly against it. "At least then I wouldn't feel like—like I had the world in my hands and just completely—... Completely dropped it, like sand or something. Slipped through my fingers."

  


    "How poetic."

  


    "I'm not _trying_ to be."

  


    Both temporarily ignore the sound of the hushed whispers echoing from the television to instead stare at each other in silent inquisition. Brunet brows are raised slightly, bitten lips twitching into a small and reserved smile, while the latter only continues to look at him with lips set in a firm line. Fingers absently shift to thread through brunet locks once more, tugging gently at the strands, eliciting a soft hiss from the fair-skinned male.

  


    But still, neither breathe a word.

  


    Instead Antoine is shifting positions until he's comfortably seated within Paul's lap, hands pushing at his broad chest, shoving him down until his back hits the bed. Large hands find Antoine's hips, keeping him steady and secure, darkened eyes flickering across his countenance for any sign of doubt within those blown irises.

  


    And then, with the tension only continuing to increase, the brunet is leaning down but is met halfway with a pair of warm, plump lips. Almost instantaneously, the brunet is eliciting a wistful sigh, palms resting on either side of Paul's head for leverage. Heads tilt to gain better access to lips, tongue's gingerly darting out to meet the other, the sound of teeth clashing making them both giggle with heady intoxication.

  


    "I figured you had a thing for Hershey Kisses," playfully hums the Frenchman as he brushes his now moist lips against the latter's, who pecks him another lengthy moment.

  


    Antoine can only snicker at that, lips splitting into a broad smile. "Who can resist chocolate? You know how I am."

  


    Paul shifts beneath his weight, not uncomfortable in the least, instead pressing his hips upward to meet the brunet's. "You know what they say, yeah? About dark chocolate?"

  


    "Hmm?" 

  


    "It's good for your heart."

  


    With that the brunet burst into a fit of giggles, eyes fluttering contently close, fingers curling inwards to grip the sheets. "Wanna know what's good for your heart?"

  


    "Humor me?"

  


    Hands are attaching to the hands at his waist, pulling them off—earning himself a playful scowl from Paul—only to redirect them to his ass. An impressed and satisfied hum echo from the man beneath him, hands squeezing the firm globes tightly, hips unconsciously twitching upward toward the glorious heat of Antoine's form.

  


    "Has your ass always been this nice?" 

  


    Eyes roll at the comment, so instead of offering a valid response, he chooses to press down harder against the growing bulge that prods against his lower half. "That's a stupid question."

  


    "Is it?"

  


    Once more the Frenchman finds himself smiling his amusement as he leans down once more to capture plump lips in a searing kiss. It manages to silence the inquisition in an instant, the sounds being replaced by soft moans and breathy whispers in sultry French. Lips abandon plump one's in favor of peppering open-mouthed kisses along the skin of Paul's neck, whispering to him in a litany of French and Spanish, the languages naturally alternating.

  


    Not that Paul minds, no, he gets the jest of what he was saying. One didn't have to be well-versed in a language to understand that Antoine was the living, breathing manifestation of the word 'sexy.' Nearly everything he did qualified as that word—and, oh no, don't get him started about when they were in training standing side-by-side. 

  


    The way the Frenchman would sometimes bend down, touch his toes, then straighten only to repeat the cycle. Or the exercises that mirrored squats, how that perfectly sculpted ass would poke out—firm and so wonderfully round—a sight that appeared constantly whenever he closed his eyes. Many late nights were spent imagining that image, barren and presented to him, his and his alone.

  


    "You're thinking really hard," comes the muffled voice from the base of his neck, teeth nipping eagerly at the protruding Adam's Apple there: "I can tell."

  


    Paul, who seems to go timid, can only offer a chuckle as he kneads the male's ass. "About you, yeah. Just—yeah, just you."

  


    "What about me?" 

  


    " _Everything_."

  


    Antoine withdraws from the crook of his neck, placing a parting kiss there, before he sits up and stares down at the male. Fingers gently nudge aside the bottom of his shirt, exposing the smooth expanse of skin there. Gently, he glides the very tips of his fingers along the muscles present, staring in awe as they twitch at each lingering touch.

  


    Pretty blues twinkle with mischief as he abandons their position to slowly peel out of his own shirt, tugging it over his head in a simple movement, discarding it carelessly on the floor. Never once does his eyes leave the younger's adoring gaze, however, even as he begins to move his hips with purpose. 

  


    Eyes roll back at that, the midfielder's head digging into the sheets, hands grasping at the elder's hips once more. It's too much at once, thinks the darker-skinned male, as he stares up at the sight of the brunet who's eyes have flutter closed. Never does he get lucky like this, never with the person he wants, and he sees it as more of a blessing than anything else.

  


    His cock twitches within the tightening confines of his shorts, but apparently Antoine doesn't care seeing as he continues to rock against his lower abdomen, leaning forward slightly to place his palms delicately upon Paul's chest. Once more the muscles there twitch, to which thin lips quirk upwards at, the action not going unnoticed by the man.

  


    "Wait, wait—" Paul regrets opening his mouth in an instant when the glorious sensations halt, blue eyes blinking profusely at him. "I just.. I don't want to go any further, not when we're still so lost about—about what happened. We can't— _I can't_ —do this with you for the wrong reasons."

  


    "What are you trying to say?" Antoine's voice is nearly inaudible as he speaks, cheeks flushed a deep scarlet, eyes wide and searching the latter's desperately.

  


    Soft sighs echo from the younger man as he allows his hands to slide from Antoine's hips to his thighs, rubbing them up and down and alternating between gentle squeezes. "I like you, a lot more than you know, and we can't do this unless I know you want me how I want you."

  


    One of the most saccharine smiles appears on pink lips as the Frenchman beams down at him, head canting cutely to the side. "Of course I like you, I wouldn't do this just to forget even though I almost did, at least until you brought it up again. Thanks for that."

  


    There's no malice in those words, Paul knows, but he still can't fight the tiny frown that frames his lips. "I want you so bad, but I plan on doing it the right way. Wining and dining, lame pick-up lines, then romantic walks on the beach."

  


    All the tension seems to break with that one line, the Frenchman giggling once more, leaning down to press a lingering kiss upon his lips. "My boner hates you right now, and I sort of do too."

  


    "I, Grizou, was raised to be a gentleman and my mom would kill me if she knew I didn't court you properly."

  


    "No, no.. Not courting, that's such an old-people word."

  


    "Going steady?"

  


    "Please stop while you're ahead."

  


    Paul grins once more, poking his lips out. "Try giving me another kiss then?" Antoine finds himself rolling his eyes, though the smile on his lips betrays him. It remains firmly in place, even as he nips and sucks at Paul's lower lip, tugging it between his teeth playfully. "You're making this _way_ too hard."

  


  


**Author's Note:**

> i was gonna write full-on smut but i was like, nah. paul's gonna make anto wait, but anto could always tease the fuck out of him until he gets laid. because why not? :p 
> 
> thank you all in advance for reading and commenting !!


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